


Unexpected

by theLiterator



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was meant to be a one off, a chance to get some rest. Then, there's a choice and some incommensurability. Culture clash, and some snarking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Harry Potter fic I always wanted to write. It's therefore a little self-indulgent. I hope readers enjoy it regardless.

She wasn't his sort, and in some ways that provided for the allure.

She wasn't his sort at all. She didn't carefully cultivate her sexuality, playing it up for the eligible wizards to see, showing herself off as the perfect potential mother and wife.

She didn't understand what his sort had lost, entire bloodlines wiped out in a single generation.

But she understood nearly everything else. She attacked every problem with a genuine sense of wonder and excitement that was more erotic than the artifices of the proper witches' could ever be.

She was studious and self-contained, and he could easily approach her on her own, get a rise out of her, put a flush on her cheeks.

He didn't have _time_ for that sort of thing though. He barely had time to sleep.

So of course she made the first move-- not as such, not in any way she might recognize it as a first move. But her running into him, quite literally, as he was entering the library and she was rushing out was the event that set everything else in motion.

She hesitated in her furious recitation of the ingredients for a potion long enough to say 'pardon!' and he hardly dared breathe as she went on her way, not even recognizing him.

He had to look up the potion. It both infuriated him and intrigued him.

***  
He sought her out, after several days, finding her alone in the library, calmly cross-referencing the footnotes to her History of Magic essay. He had barely started his, but he had other things on his mind.

"Granger," he said calmly, taking the empty seat across from her at the study table. He closed his eyes, taking several slow breaths and fortifying himself. He needed sleep, still; desperately. But little breaks like these had been all he'd had the time for the past semester.

He wondered if lack of sleep could kill him.

She broke the silence first. "What do you want? This rough draft is due tomorrow, and with everything else, I haven't had _time_ yet to finish it. Just say your piece and leave off, will you?"

"It's due tomorrow?" he said incredulously. "It's the 18th already?"

She snorted. He took that as a yes, and felt something clench in his stomach. He would not call it fear, because he was not a coward.

"What topic are you writing on?" he asked, to fill the empty places between them.

She snorted again.

He opened one eye minutely, just long enough to see that she had carefully laid her quill aside and was staring at him.

"I've always been fascinated by the cultural differences regarding bloodlines and standing in the Wizarding community between the U.K. and the various former British colonies."

"The United States?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. He frowned.

"Among others. Of course India has its own heritage and traditions, but both Australia and the United States had all but wiped out the indigenous population. It begs the question of _why_ the cultures are so dissimilar after all."

The logical reaction, the _expected_ reaction would be to scoff and ask her if she was planning on moving to one or the other and enjoy those muddied communities. But he couldn't bring himself to do it; he lacked the energy, and her premise was brilliant.

"What's your thesis?" he asked instead.

"That it was likely due to the fact that only marginalized or criminalized citizens originally colonized. That, and definitely the attitudes of camaraderie and brotherhood among the colonials, that led to those Wizarding communities being rather more egalitarian than the parent community here in Britain."

He licked his lips and opened his eyes. She was flushed, in her element explaining things that were so obscure and yet very important to her. Important to him too, and everyone else in the British Wizarding community, if they were to evade international censure.

But those who should care could hardly be bothered to. Theirs was an insular community, with none of the overspill into the Muggle world that characterized other Wizarding communities.

And he liked it that way, he reminded himself. Their way was better.

But he liked this response from her, and it was proving somewhat easier to elicit through appealing to her intelligence rather than her limited self-esteem problems.

"When was the last time you slept?" she asked, out of nowhere.

"I hardly see how that matters. We were discussing Wizarding communities abroad."

"I was discussing," she said, more gently than he'd have expected. "You were trying to find an excuse not to fall asleep. I know you don't hold much respect for Muggles, but there are quite a few studies exploring the side-effects of lack of sleep, and more importantly, lack of deep sleep. REM sleep, or when you're dreaming, doesn't start until at least an hour to an hour and a half after you finally fall asleep, and without it, your brain doesn't produce the right chemicals it needs to function at its best."

It was his turn to snort.

"Oh, I don't even know why I'm bothering! It's not as if you'd listen to someone you see as beneath you anyway. Just go talk to Madame Pomfrey. She'll tell you the same thing, I'm sure."

He sat up. It took more effort than he expected just to force his muscles to move him from a reclining position to his usual perfect posture. He suspected she was right about the sleep thing.

"How do they know?" he asked, intrigued. "How do the Muggles know these things about sleep?"

"All sorts of ways. And go away, I'll not procrastinate my own work just to help you procrastinate sleeping."

"I'm not procrastinating sleep," he said, and left for the Room of Hidden Things before she could pry.

***  
She watched him now too.

He was used to Potter's eyes on him at all hours, inconvenient and accusing, but not to hers. She wasn't staring holes into him, she was _watching_. She was _thinking._ He was fairly sure that there was no entity more terrifying than Hermione Granger when she was contemplating something.

***  
"Harry thinks you're up to something," she said to him in the hall. She had followed him, and he had turned around and waited for her to catch up. They were alone.

"Does he." he said flatly.

"I don't care."

He raised an eyebrow, watched as the colour rose in her cheeks. Her hair was pulled to the back of her head haphazardly. She hadn't bothered to comb a part into it today.

"I mean, I don't care if you're up to something. We're _students_. The War shouldn't involve us, and I won't let it interrupt my schoolwork. I know everyone thinks that's naive, but I don't care. About any of it."

"That's..." he hesitated. He wished he could do that, turn a blind eye to the currents of politics and war around them, but he was a Malfoy. Politics and war were in his blood. She could never understand that.

"Yes, I know. I know it's wrong. And it's probably going to end up with me regretting a lot of this year. But I will score _well_ in my classes. And my parents will be proud of me. It's as easy as that."

He laughed. He hadn't known he could still do that, had thought that ability to have been drained out through his left forearm over the past weeks and months of being incapable of doing _anything._

Still, it wasn't a happy laugh.

"You still haven't slept," she said.

He shrugged.

"Come with me," she demanded, and turned, expecting him to follow.

He did.

***  
They were in a classroom at the top of one of the towers. A scent of incense lingered in the air and instead of proper schooldesks there were poufs and tea tables.

She whisked something out of her robes and gathered a tea service for two from one of the cupboards.

"Where--?"

"Divination classroom," she said acerbically, and he looked around again. Though Trelawney had resumed teaching, she hadn't returned to this room. It was unused and echoing and dark, even with the conjured lights Granger had set up. Intimate.

She shook dried leaves into the diffuser, boiled the water with her wand and not a flame, and put the lid on the teapot to steep.

"If you think I'll drink some poison of yours, all unwitting," he began.

"I don't think that at all. I'm not trying to poison you though, it's a tisane. Just valerian and hawthorn and," she pulled a flask out of her robes. "Good old alcohol."

She poured the tea into each cup and blew on hers before taking a sip.

"Go on and test it if you like," she added.

He calmly used three separate spells to test it, and her expression grew more amused after each incantation. He was tempted to try a fourth, to see if she would start laughing, but was unsure of how close to impatient she was. He took a sip. It wasn't unpleasant, and it wasn't a potion that would send him off for eight hours exactly and have him wake feeling groggy and tired still. He took another, longer sip.

She smiled at him.

"How do you know these things," he asked, gesturing at the tea. "I know valerian root is used in some milder sleeping draughts, but I wouldn't have thought you could use it plain like this, for tea."

"Teas are sort of like potions too, aren't they?" she asked.

"I suppose," he agreed. "But that doesn't answer my question."

"I read a lot, I suppose. And Muggles use it instead of prescription medication to help them sleep."

He nodded and forced himself to take another sip. It didn't taste any different, knowing that it was Muggle and not magical.

"So your plan is to put me to sleep and then what?"

"I didn't really plan that far ahead. I just don't like thinking about anyone suffering."

He nodded, poured himself more of the tea, this time splashing some of the alcohol into it.

"Where did you get this anyhow?"

"Confiscated it," she said, preening.

"Oh, really?" he smirked. "Prefect Granger abusing her power?"

She flushed pink, and he smiled some more. He hadn't felt this at ease in months. Funny that the ease was coming in the company of a Mudblood.

His skin was starting to heat from the effects of the alcohol, so he put the cup down.

"Did you get your draft back?" he asked conversationally.

"Oh! Yes! I'm glad it was only a draft though, some of my reasoning was shoddy, and I need another two inches for the extra credit. What did you write yours on?"

"I didn't." he said coolly.

"Oh," she said, but didn't ask.

The relief he felt at her not prying further was indescribable. He was so used to being dogged at every turn about his activities, that this reprieve was more welcome than a night's sleep. And it looked like he was getting that, too.

"Hermione Granger," he breathed wonderingly.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing... I just wonder if your _friends_ appreciate you as well as I ought to." He couldn't help the sneer in his voice on the word friends.

She laughed outright. "You must really be tired if the alcohol is working this quickly," she said cheerfully.

"Oh, we're able to blame it on the alcohol then? Already?"

"I'd prefer that," she said. "And we can pretend I've been drinking too, to be giving comfort to someone who's bullied me for years."

"Fair enough," he said, and then he leaned over the tea table to kiss her. She gasped against his lips, but didn't pull away.

He took that as encouragement and shifted them both so he could pull her flush against him. They were on the same pouf now, and she fitted against him nicely. He freed her hair so he could bury his hands in the soft mass of it, and she finally, finally started kissing back.

It was sweeter than he expected, than it really ought to be. They were supposed to hate each other, and people who hated each other were _rough_ , according to the flimsy novels his mother adored and he secretly filched.

But he didn't hate her. He wasn't sure he _could_ hate, considering how much energy that expended. He couldn't even bring himself to hate Potter anymore, and Potter deserved it.

She broke away, eyes wide and pupils dilated, lips shiny and swollen. He felt a sort of pride at being responsible for her current disarray.

"This... isn't. We shouldn't be doing this."

"We're drunk, remember?" he reminded her, but he made his arms relax from around her body. He wasn't that sort of person. He realized now that he didn't want to be the sort of person who forced people to do things against their will.

It was utter cruelty, and he hadn't the energy for that, either.

"Yes, but I have to know," she said, which wasn't her leaving him alone and aroused and warm with alcohol, so he allowed himself to breathe. "Why me?"

He couldn't answer that. Not because he didn't have an answer-- he did. It was because she was clever and well-spoken. It was because she worried about him when by all rights she should hate him. But he couldn't.

"Does it matter?" he asked wearily. "Would you believe me if I told you?"

"It might," she said. "I might."

"Tell me why you were memorizing the ingredients for a Dragonbane potion? It isn't in our curriculum."

"I-- How did you know that?" she demanded, lips parted and eyes narrowed. He shrugged.

He kissed her again, this time teasing her out of her shell with lips and tongue, reveling in her soft noises and the way her hands were clenching in the fabric of his robes.

He carefully unfastened hers, enjoying the creamy flesh revealed as he slowly slid the fabric over her shoulders. Black was not a good colour for her, he decided. Her bra was a pale pink that complemented the flush of her skin perfectly. He dragged his thumbs along her collarbones, fascinated. She shrugged the rest of the way out of her robes, and they tangled around her thighs. He met her eyes again, and she was staring at him defiantly, her jaw clenched a little.

So she was not comfortable naked. Or she was not comfortable naked _with him_ , and who could blame her?

He mentally shrugged it off, and quickly disrobed to even the playing field, forgetting for a few precious moments, that they were anything other than two adolescent wizards fumbling together in an empty classroom after hours. Forgetting that she was Harry Potter's best friend, and the he...

Her hands grabbed his left arm and brought it up close to her face so she could peer at the Dark Mark.

"Protean Charm," she said, fingers tracing it curiously. He wondered if she noticed the slightly raised edges, the way it was warmer than the rest of him.

"Only broken if you freeze the object so charmed and shatter it with a silver hammer," she said.

He kissed her again lightly, a question.

"Or if the master object is destroyed in a similar manner," she said against his lips.

He groaned and kissed her hard, hands roaming over her mostly bared skin.

He unclasped her bra and laid her down against the soft cushion better, so he could get a good look at her. She was lovely in the way that all women are, soft and curving and female. It wasn't her body that drew him, though it was a nice side benefit.

He kissed along her abdomen and carefully drew off her underwear, fingers tracing her flesh as it was revealed, eliciting gasps and whimpers from her.

He climbed back up to kiss her properly again, a little more possessively now, a little more viciously. He was more than ready to take her, and she was willing and pliant beneath him.

He hesitated though, until she said "please" and dug dull nails into his back. He smiled tightly, pressing close against her, and then inside of her. She froze, gasping a little, and he hesitated again. She smiled though, tightlipped, and he pressed further.

It was everything he needed, visceral and hot and slick, and the slight amount of alcohol in his blood meant he felt it twice as sharply and blurred around the edges at the same time.

She gasped and whined and begged and clumsily matched his rhythm, clutching at his shoulders and kissing him until he was dizzy and breathless, spiraling ever upward, ever closer down into her, until the sensations crashed into him all at once and he groaned and went rigid before collapsing on top of her.

He took a few minutes to catch his breath, then he disentangled himself from her, and her from her robes, which he quietly transfigured into a plush afghan to wrap around them both. The exhaustion was seeping back into him, evaded only briefly through the immediacy of arousal and sex.

"You were a virgin," he said.

"Yes," she said muzzily, sounding just as tired as he felt.

He wasn't sure how to react to that. He wasn't sure he had a reaction to that. He supposed he was pleased and a little surprised that she had been willing to have sex with him, of all people, for her first time. But maybe Muggles didn't treasure the experience the way witches did?

He smoothed her hair back from her face, combing it with his fingers and fixing her part.

"You're supposed to be asleep," she pointed out, blinking slowly.

"Yes," he said. He didn't ask her if she'd be there the next morning, didn't offer to meet her again another evening.

He didn't have time for this, and she wasn't his sort.

 

She'd had a touch of the stomach flu for a few days now, and it was getting more and more difficult to keep food down so she could focus on her studies. She'd known it was bad when Harry had noticed it, so she finally relented to Parvati's prodding and paid a visit to Madame Pomfrey.

She sat uncomfortably on the neatly made bed, reminded of waking up here, alone, in her second year, and of every vigil she'd ever kept over her friends.

She was not looking forward to spring term because everything was building so slowly to something that would be desperately painful for either side.

 _War is cruelty,_ she thought, and immediately tried to focus on brighter things like the fact that the Christmas holidays were almost upon her, and she'd be going home. Her parents were hosting Christmas dinner this year for their extended family, so she would have the opportunity to be around many people who weren't involved in war.

Madame Pomfrey made her way over to Hermione and clucked at her, telling her she looked pale and was she eating well.

"Er, no, actually," Hermione said, embarrassed a little by the attention. She hardly enjoyed it when it wasn't about her intellect, and it was hard to sit still under such caring scrutiny from someone who was not her parents. "I've actually had a touch of flu. I can't eat very much without being nauseated."

"Hmm," Madame Pomfrey said, then took her pulse and her temperature. "A little high," she said in regards to the latter, and then "When was your last menstrual cycle." Hermione sighed and reached for her planner.

She flipped back several weeks... two weeks too many, but the stress of exams always threw her off. "November 1st," she said.

"Ah!" said Madame Pomfrey, who then bustled off to the cupboard on the far wall.

Hermione recognized the small flask of pink potion as one that tested for certain hormones in the blood. "No!" she exclaimed.

"Are you sexually active?" Madame Pomfrey asked gently, and Hermione had to blush.

"I-- yeah. Yes."

"Then humour me? It's the easiest explanation, and a happy one too!" She said with a smile, holding a sterile silver knife out. Hermione offered a finger to be pricked, and watched as the drops of blood diffused into the potion and the potion turned... green. Positive. She felt suddenly very nauseous again.

Madame Pomfrey stoppered the bottle and sealed it. "Congratulations are in order I suppose!" she said. "I'll go get you some informational booklets, and you can go on and tell the doting daddy in a few minutes, after we schedule an appointment this weekend for me to give you and the baby a checkup."

Hermione stared at the green potion in horror.

"But I used a charm!" she protested, to no one in particular.

When Madame Pomfrey came out of her office with hands full of books and three potions, she smiled gently at Hermione.

"I know it's probably a surprise, and you are quite likely worried, but we've made great advances over the past two decades about ensuring viability. The sooner we detect a pregnancy, the sooner we can start caring for mum and baby and everything will be fine."

Hermione managed to nod weakly.

Madame Pomfrey leaned in close and whispered conspiratorily, "And between you and me, Muggleborns are far less likely to suffer from complications and loss of viability in utero."

Hermione nodded again. "May I lie down?" she asked, finally.

She wasn't sure what all was happening. She was seventeen, and Madame Pomfrey seemed to be taking it as a given that she would keep the baby. She couldn't raise a baby! She had _plans_ , and none of them involved being a mother at seventeen. She quietly cursed herself for having decided to finally have sex, and after a few moments, for who she had done it _with_.

At least Malfoy would react reasonably, she thought. Not that he would _ever_ find out. She could just imagine his reaction to a _Mudblood_ having his child. A travesty.

She suppressed a hysterical laugh.

"Oh, of course," Madame Pomfrey exclaimed, adjusting the pillows behind her and adding an anti-nausea potion to the grouping on the bedside table. Hermione stared at them. There were five now, including the stoppered up green one.

Hermione obediently drank them before turning to the literature she'd been given.

It was filled with waving, smiling women in various stages of pregnancy, and had very little substantial information. She tossed them aside in irritation and tried to get ahold of herself long enough to think.

There was nothing in the literature about unwanted pregnancy, nothing about adoption or termination, and she wanted to scream. She breathed through the urge and sat up. Madame Pomfrey was across the room speaking quietly to another student, and Hermione knew her situation wasn't urgent enough to warrant her demanding attention. She collected the booklets again and flipped through them some more.

Suddenly, Ron and Harry crashed into the hospital wing and she startled, sitting up straight.

"Hermione!" Harry said loudly, and they both came to sit at her side.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," she said a little testily, immediately regretting it, because it was hardly their fault she'd made such a shoddy decision.

Ron picked up one of the booklets.

"Hermione," he said slowly. "Are you pregnant?"

He looked a little betrayed, which was hardly fair, as he'd been caught up in Lavender all this time.

"It doesn't matter," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll take care of it before next term."

"Take care of it?" Ron said, perplexed.

Harry squeezed her hand. "We're here for you." He smiled.

Hermione smiled back. "Thank you." She should have known he'd be here for her. She would have remembered after a few more minutes of blind, internalized panic, she thought, but it was nice to be reminded.

"Oh, how very _touching_ ," a familiar taunting drawl intoned from the foot of the bed and she tore her gaze from Harry's to see Malfoy standing there, dark circles under his eyes, hand healing rapidly from a burn Madame Pomfrey must have just treated.

His demeanor changed at once though, and she wondered why until he took the two steps to the bedside table where the green potion still stood. He caught her gaze even as he snatched it up, and the emotion in his eyes went from horror to fear to something infinitely soft and warm. She recoiled, mostly from the last. He hadn't looked at her like that even as they'd had sex in the old Divination room.

She bit her lip and looked away.

"Give that back!" Ron said violently, reaching haphazardly for the little bottle, and Hermione realized then that she was intended to keep it.

"Why?" she asked.

Ron gave her that same perplexed look from before, but Malfoy sighed, more out of exhaustion than impatience, she rather thought.

"It's a treasure, a positive pregnancy test. The lucky parents keep it as a talisman of good luck throughout the pregnancy. Weasley's just concerned I'll break it and you'll be _cursed_."

Hermione was half tempted to smash the bottle herself in that moment.

Instead, she watched as Malfoy allowed Ron to take possession of the bottle and set it carefully on the table, and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

"I'm sorry," she said clearly. Malfoy gave her an unfathomable look, and Ron and Harry both muttered protestations, saying there was nothing for her to apologise for.

"Your part is crooked," he said instead of the myriad things she thought he might have said in that moment, that she wished he'd said in that moment.

Her hand went to her hair of its own accord and she could feel her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

He left then, and she was almost disappointed to see him go. He'd been the first person to offer her something akin to an actual explanation for the way everyone was acting.

Besides, this was at least half his responsibility either way, and he deserved to be trapped here, the same as she was.

 

Once he was safely in to corridor outside the hospital wing, he allowed himself to relax. He sat suddenly, and clenched his fists in his robes. He hadn't _thought_. Of course he hadn't... all Pureblood girls would know the risks, and if he'd impregnated one of them, they'd have been welcomed by his family with open arms and a comfortably rich life, coddled and pampered for the rest of her life.

He'd never even considered taking a Mudblood to his bed before Granger, and hadn't thought through the consequences. He remembered being told by his father the summer he was thirteen that he had better never have intercourse with a witch he wasn't prepared to father a child with, and told him _why_. It had been highly embarrassing at the time, but he'd followed through on those instructions ever since. Until three weeks ago, that is.

Or had he? He flinched from the thought, but he had to admit to himself that there were worse witches to be having a child with. Granger was at the least intelligent, and pretty enough in her own fashion that he felt his mother would be pleased to welcome her to the family, poor blood and all. His father was a different matter, but also imprisoned on a life sentence, which; Draco flipped the signet ring on his finger a few times, meant that Draco was the head of the family. There were scrolls in their vaults with both their signatures attesting that.

But that left his Aunt Bellatrix, who was more in charge than he hoped to ever be. His mother cowed to her, and Draco-- the only reason he wasn't terrified was his pure will _not_ to be.

She would eat Granger alive.

He ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to stave off the headache he had brewing.

He needed to talk to Professor Snape, but he had no idea what he was going to say.

***  
Professor Snape was surprised to see him, though he hid it well. "Draco," he said kindly.

"I have a problem," he admitted. It went against his every instinct in him to ask for help like this, but there was a child involved now, and he simply couldn't ignore that.

"Yes, one I believe I've offered my assistance with before." He didn't ask what had made Draco change his mind, which was good, as Draco knew he couldn't trust his professor with that piece of information. His behavior towards Granger and her friends over the years was enough to attest to that.

"I will be unable to complete my task," he said treading softly. "Something... has come up that will interfere with my secondary plans."

Professor Snape's face was inscrutable. Draco felt all of eleven years old again, being chastised for bullying. He straightened his spine and held his ground.

"And the primary task?"

Draco felt something inside him shatter.

"It was never going to happen anyway!" he snarled. "It's unreasonable! I'm being used to punish my father for the transgression of failing to kill children, and it's _stupid_. It's like pulling the wings off of dragonflies and watching them buzz around in circles!"

He realized belatedly that the thing that had shattered was his self-control, and braced himself for the torture certain to come.

It never did. Something like a smile curled the edges of his professor's lips and Draco was more frightened of that than anything else.

"There is something I must tell you, Draco. It is of _paramount_ importance," he said gravely. "No matter which side you come down on in this war, _you will be used._ "

He backtracked hastily, fearfully. "I'm not switching sides," he protested.

"I never said that," Professor Snape said sharply. "I was simply telling you a basic truth. There are two players in this. Professor Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. Both treat their supporters as disposable pawns. It is imperative you remember this, Draco."

Draco flinched away from the intensity of his professor's words.

"I... I don't understand," he said finally, and his voice sounded small and childish to his own ears.

Professor Snape nodded once. "I know. I know you don't. But you are one of two people who needs to realise this, and I am... terrified that neither of you ever will."

Draco took a step backwards, and another, hating the trapped feeling he had right now, pinned by his professor's gaze.

"Get some sleep, Draco," Professor Snape told him. Draco nodded, and the doorknob turned easily, opening the door behind him. He fled.

 

Once he'd left the dungeon, the sunlight pouring through the windows calmed him, centered him, and he went back up to the hospital wing. Granger and her friends had left, though, and he could hardly ask Madame Pomfrey where they had gone without looking suspicious.

He went to the library.

She was there, of course, and he could see several piles of books around her, and she was carefully scanning the index of one.

"Granger," he greeted, sitting across from her without begging permission. She looked up from her book, startled.

"I didn't think you would be back."

"I do occasionally use the library myself," he said torn between amusement and disdain.

"Not this term," she said quietly.

He nodded, conceding the point.

"But I meant..." she gestured broadly, and he took that to indicate that she didn't expect him to return to his responsibilities regarding her and her unborn child.

"While I haven't exactly had confirmation from the mother as to the paternity of the child, I'm not a moron. What kind of wizard do you take me for, to disdain responsibility for a child I've fathered?"

She shook her head silently, and he wondered what exactly she was protesting with that gesture.

"I don't understand what's going on," she whispered, finally. "I find out I'm pregnant, and all I get are congratulations! Lavender even asked me whether the father's parents would raise the child or if I'd perhaps ask Mrs. Weasley to do it."

He suppressed his initial reaction of disgust. "It's a valid question," he said mildly. "I wouldn't suggest my own family, of course. While my mother would love a baby to dote on, there are... complications."

"That's just it! We can't have this baby! There isn't... it isn't logical for me to carry this baby to term and _no one_ will discuss my options with me!" she said, somewhat louder than he'd have liked. They both looked around guiltily, but no one nearby indicated that they'd overheard.

"If you don't carry it to term, how will it be born?" he asked, wondering if that was a Muggle thing, and trying to imagine what sort of contraptions, what sorts of _science_ might be used.

She gaped at him. "I... I think I understand now," she said quietly, and he could sense a hint of desperation in her voice. "Wizards don't have abortions, do they?"

He sat for a few seconds, absorbing her words.

"You mean, on purpose? Sometimes a witch's body can't handle the stress, and... but you mean _on purpose._ "

"Yes," she said quietly, eyes down. He wondered briefly what his expression must be like, for her to want to look away. He tried to smooth it into something aloof, blank, but he was tired, and genuinely horrified.

"Is that... a thing?" he asked finally. "Do Muggles do that?"

"Yes," she said. "It's considered important in modern society, as it gives women reproductive freedom. After all, it's her body. It's _my_ body. And it shouldn't have even come up! I learned the charms, I _know_ I did them right."

And this part was his fault, he knew. He steeled himself, wondering if her censure would be permanent. He might never be permitted to see their child. She might go through with this Muggle concept of abortion.

"That's because I'm a Pureblood," he said. "I've had charms on me, imbued in me, to make sure that a witch can't prevent conception through magical means. It's... a precaution, if you will."

She stared at him.

"You should have told me!" she shouted, and this time everyone looked up. "You had _no right_ to keep that information from me. No right!"

"Oh, like I was supposed to remember that some stupid Mudblood wouldn't know. Everyone _else_ knows it! And you always pop up with all sorts of choice pieces of information that you have no right to know."

"You cannot seriously be blaming this on my... on my heritage!" she snarled.

"And you can't reasonably expect me to tell every girl I have sex with that she might get pregnant!" he shouted, immediately regretting it. They had the attention of everyone in the library, and it would soon be common knowledge that, he, Draco Malfoy, had had sex with a Mudblood.

He felt blood rushing to his skin in humiliation, and he did the only thing he could think of in that moment. He retreated.

 

Hermione could feel the eyes of every student in the library upon her, and she looked forlornly at the stacked books she had been searching for some way to-- to solve this problem.

But it looked like she wasn't going to find anything, and she left. She didn't re-shelve the books, and she ignored the pointed stares and whispers as she passed groups of students.

And after a few minutes of walking towards the front doors and the freedom of the outdoors, it clicked in her mind.

After a century of war, and considering the low birth rate she'd observed among wizards, it made _sense._ She wasn't sure she agreed with it, as it prickled her sense of independence, and it did infringe on her rights as a human being, but it made sense that Draco Malfoy would have some sort of charm on him that made it so witches couldn't prevent him fathering children. It was simple survival.

She was still furious with him though.

She wandered toward Hagrid's hut at the edge of the grounds, shivering slightly in her robes. She should have ventured up to her dorm to collect her cloak; it was too late now though. Everyone would know about Malfoy, and... she couldn't face that. She cursed him quietly some more.

"I apologise," he said quietly from somewhere behind her and to her left. She startled and turned abruptly to face him.

"I shouldn't have shouted," she said.

"I shouldn't have either," he pointed out.

She could feel goosebumps rising on her skin. "I was going to visit Hagrid's. He usually offers me tea," she said.

A brief flash of disgust crossed his face, but she had to give him points for hiding it quickly and not saying anything aloud.

"Do you think I might be welcomed as well?" he said politely, and she was a little disconcerted by this creature who was wearing Malfoy's skin and using Malfoy's voice to say things Malfoy would never in a million years say.

"I don't really know," she said. But she knew he was probably just as unhappy about the prospect of returning to his common room as she was, so she held out a hand.

He tucked it into the crook of his elbow, every inch the gentleman he never was around her, and she let him.

With him right there, it was hard to avoid thinking about the inevitability of Ron and Harry discovering who the father was. It had all gotten so out of control, and she couldn't even pinpoint when it had happened.

Except maybe she could. _And we can pretend I've been drinking too,_ she'd said, and it had been an invitation.

She still wondered why she'd done it. It was unusual, for her, to do something without thinking of the consequences beforehand, to act instead of plan, and it had left her reeling a little, to the point that she was still unsure of her footing.

The added pressure of an unwanted pregnancy didn't help.

She considered what she would say to Harry and Ron, and she floundered for a few moments. She had no idea her reasoning; how could she possibly justify it to her friends?

She realized abruptly that not only were she and Malfoy inside, they were at the trapdoor entrance to the old Divination room. She jerked her hand away from him, furious.

"I wanted to go to Hagrid's!" she said, feeling her temper rise up and choke her. She hated feeling angry like this.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said calmly. "Privately."

"You... I cannot believe you!" she clenched her fists and had to hold her breath to prevent herself from hitting him. They weren't Third-Years any more, and he might just hit her back.

He sighed. "Don't be so unreasonable. We _do_ need to talk, and drinking tea in a half-breed's hut while he glares daggers at me for daring to touch his _precious_ Mudblood supporter is not the right context for this conversation."

"I hate you," she snarled, and stormed away.

She was two corridors away when her rational mind caught up with her emotions and she allowed herself to realize that he'd been right. Not about using such derogatory language, but about the other things. They did need to have a serious conversation, and they needed to have it somewhere private.

Her pride wouldn't let her turn back, however, so she continued on her way to Gryffindor Tower.

She entered the common room to the collective stares of her peers, and she could feel her face coloring with embarrassment, even though she knew she had nothing to be embarrassed about. After all, it was they who should be embarrassed for listening to gossip.

Lavender was the first to break their silence.

"Is it true?" she gushed, grabbing Hermione's hand and smiling eagerly.

"Is what true?" Hermione temporized.

"They're saying that you slept with Draco Malfoy and now you're pregnant."

Hermione hesitated, and Ron and Harry were staring at her, both obviously willing her to deny it. The pressure of their expectation overwhelmed her briefly.

"I'm pregnant, yes," she said calmly. Lavender rolled her eyes.

"I _told_ you Malfoy wouldn't have slept with her," she said to the crowd at large, and that stung. "As long as it's not Ron's," Lavender said, directing the comment to her, "we're good."

Hermione nodded, numbly.

"And why wouldn't Malfoy sleep with me," she asked, like picking at a scab.

"Because," Lavender said. "You're... He doesn't like Muggleborns. Everyone knows that."

"And," Parvati said. "You aren't exactly _trying_ , you know? You don't even brush your hair out all the way half the time."

"And that's enough to make it completely unfathomable that Malfoy would ever consider having sex with me?" she asked, hating herself as she said it. She should be ecstatic that she could avoid revealing the truth for so much longer, but she wasn't ugly and Malfoy _had_ had sex with her.

"Why do you care? It's not like it matters, anyway. Is it Harry's?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's not Harry's. Harry and I are friends. And of course it matters! You're acting like I'm completely undesirable."

"Well, that's obviously not true," Lavender said, giggling. "You're pregnant aren't you?"

Hermione clenched her fists. Parvati asked "So who's the lucky wizard then? Not Cormac, obviously." Cormac snickered from his corner by the fire.

"Figure it out yourselves," she snapped, and though she desperately wanted to go to her room to be alone, she could tell Harry and Ron were practically dying of curiosity, so she collected them with a glance and headed up to their dormitory.

As soon as the door was shut, they both rounded on her.

"Who _is_ the father?" Ron demanded, as tactless always, and she does her best not to roll her eyes at him.

"You didn't exactly deny the... er... that it might be Malfoy, before. And Luna said she heard you shouting at him in the library," Harry pointed out.

Hermione flinched.

"Ron opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times, silently, before sitting heavily on the nearest bed. Harry started pacing, as he was wont to do when pressured.

Ron broke the uncomfortable silence first.

"How could you?" he demanded furiously. "How could you let _him_ of all people do that to you?"

"Let him-- I don't even know what you're implying! I was having tea with him, and... I don't know. He kissed me! He's the only one who's shown me anything more than passing interest in months."

"And you _fell_ for that?"

"I didn't _fall_ for anything, Ron. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I wanted to do it!"

Harry stopped pacing. "It must be part of his plan," he mused. "He wants to distract us."

"That doesn't even make any sense, Harry! I'm the one who invited him to join me for tea, not the other way around."

Ron bounced up off the bed. "You invited him to have tea with you? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? He could have killed you or kidnapped you for leverage against Harry or to give to You-Know-Who to torture. You're supposed to be the cautious one," the last was said accusingly.

"Well, pardon me for wanting to get to know one of our peers a little better," she said primly, glaring at Ron the whole while.

"Harry, do you _hear_ this? She wanted to get to know him better!"

Harry cocked his head slightly. "I'd say she succeeded."

Hermione resisted the urge to laugh, as it would have come out a little hysterical, and the last thing she needed right now was to lose it in front of Harry and Ron.

"It doesn't matter anyway. I'll take care of it over the holiday, and everything will go back to normal."

Harry nodded. "Can't Madame Pomfrey whip something up for you?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think it would be wise to ask her. Malfoy said it was taboo."

Ron was watching their conversation curiously.

"What do you mean, take care of it?" he asked, mistrustfully.

"There's a procedure-- very safe, very humane. I'm seventeen," she added. The last thing a bright, studious seventeen-year-old student needed was an unwanted baby as the result of a one-night-stand.

"A procedure?" Ron asked.

Hermione sniffed. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Ron, or anyone, for that matter." She turned abruptly on her heel to leave.

She overheard Ron repeating his question to Harry as she closed the door behind her and headed to her own dormitory.

 

Draco waited ten minutes before he determined that she really wasn't coming back, and then he headed slowly down to the dungeons. Professor Snape had ordered him to get some sleep, and he really did need to-- he'd need every ounce of energy he could muster to deal with Granger.

The common room was quiet when he entered, only a few people belying their interest in him by looking at him.

Blaise was the first to crack, and he should have guessed as much, really.

"So is it true?" he said casually, and while Draco knew exactly what he was referring to, he was not going to make this easy for them.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's been said," Blaise drawled out, taking a moment to write something on the parchment he'd been working on when Draco had walked in. "That you not only fucked a Mudblood, but that she's pregnant now."

Draco laughed condescendingly. "I'd have thought _you_ , at least, would be above listening to gossip," he said.

"Well, I would have, but my cousin was in the library." Draco noticed that Blaise hadn't specified which cousin it was, which meant that Blaise believed the rumour above Draco. He cringed, inwardly. He had no control, not anywhere in his life, and he hated it.

"While the rest of you engage in your undignified rumourmongering," he said disdainfully, "I'll be sleeping. Do please try not to disturb me," he said long-sufferingly. _Put the blame on them, and walk away,_ he reminded himself.

"Perhaps if you were better at obeying your master," Blaise said from behind him as he left, "You wouldn't have to worry about sleeping, or who you were sleeping with. As it stands, I'm not sure how you can bear to shut your eyes."

Which was a threat, and a very serious one. But he knew how to respond to threats.

He pretended he hadn't heard Blaise and continued to walk away.

 

Hermione didn't go to breakfast, because she knew it would be futile anyway. That, and she didn't want to face her friends and peers over a breakfast table. Instead, she took the time to pen a note to Malfoy requesting he meet her in the old Divination classroom after supper that evening.

She attached it to Pig's leg, feeling a little more cheerful at the insult to both wizards.

She went to Ancient Runes, after, and lost herself in the particular cadence of the lecture, and the logic and sense of the subject.

She was starting to feel better about everything by the time class was over, so she relaxed.

That's when Ron came after her.

"I can't believe you'd do something like that!" he shouted at her, grabbing her arms tightly enough to bruise and glaring furiously at her. She couldn't help the tiny thrill of fear that ran down her spine at his actions.

"What?" she asked, confused. He hadn't been this angry last night, and his temper was prone to burn out, not get hotter.

"You're going to-- what was that word? Harry! You tell her she's wrong!"

"Er... what Ron means is, he doesn't like the idea of an abortion. I tried to explain like they do on the health pamphlets at the clinic, but," Harry shrugged.

"It's a baby! There's a little wizard or witch inside of you and you're just going to--" his words cut off abruptly though his mouth kept moving.

He glared at Hermione like she'd been the one to silence him, but she was helpless in his grasp. She tried to shake him off.

"Much better," Malfoy sneered from somewhere to their right. "Now, be a good boy and let the Mudblood go." His wand was out menacingly, and the other students in the corridor fled.

Ron snarled at Malfoy silently, and she looked over her shoulder desperately.

Malfoy flicked his wand, and Ron staggered back, gasping for breath. After another second Harry cast the counter spell, and Ron started yelling again, this time at Malfoy.

"You should be on my side! Do you have any idea what she's going to do to _your_ baby?"

Malfoy was so close behind her that she could feel him shudder, and imagined his expression mirrored the one he'd worn in the library.

"The key word there, I believe, is 'your'. The baby is not yours; he is not Potter's. He is _mine_. And hers. It is none of your concern what we decide to do with him."

Hermione felt herself shaking, an after-effect of the adrenaline rush, she thought. But then a warm, heavy cloak was wrapped around her shoulders, and Malfoy was saying, "I'd rather think that if you cared so much about the health and well-being of the baby, you wouldn't stoop to assaulting his mother."

"It doesn't have a sex yet," she said.

All three of them stared at her incredulously.

"You keep saying 'he', and it's not... it hasn't got a sex yet. That doesn't happen until the ninth week. Which makes all of this ridiculous! Do you know how many pregnancies end naturally before the embryo reaches that stage?"

Malfoy sighed softly behind her. "Not for witches," he said. "Not once the pregnancy has been recognised. There are potions and nutrients and spells to keep everything healthy and viable."

Hermione resisted the urge to stomp her feet and scream that it wasn't fair. Instead, she settled the cloak around herself slightly better. It smelled like Malfoy, which reminded her of having sex with him, which made her want to scream that it wasn't fair all over again.

Sex hadn't even been all that good. She'd been expecting fireworks, when really, it had simply been a sort of unfamiliar intimacy with fleeting pleasure. And now she was pregnant. It _wasn't_ fair.

She felt hands in her hair, and Ron was suddenly glaring daggers at Malfoy, so she could guess who it was.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Your part is still crooked. It bothers me." She could sense his shrug, and Ron was gaping like a dying fish, mouth opening and closing rapidly as he searched for something to say.

Harry wasn't so speechless. "If you're using this to distract us from figuring out what you're up to, it won't work," he said quietly. "I know you're planning something evil."

Malfoy's hands stilled momentarily, but he seemed unfazed otherwise. "Oh, really, Potter? I fathered a child on a Mudblood just to throw you off the scent?" he scoffed. "Do I really look that desperate to you?"

Ron growled. "Don't call her that. She has a name, you know!"

And Harry smiled darkly at Malfoy, "Do you really want to hear the answer to that question, Malfoy?"

Malfoy settled his hand in the small of her back. "We're late for Defense," he said, turning them both away from her friends. She resisted the urge to remind him that they all had the same class, instead allowing him to pretend to be a gentleman again.

This time she paid particular attention to where they were going, relaxing minutely when they arrived at the correct classroom.

 

Draco chuckled when she released the tension in her shoulders as they reached the correct door. She was right not to trust him, after all. But she was unusually pale, and he'd been worried. He would have escorted her to the hospital wing, if he'd thought he could get away with it.

As it stood, he'd have to settle for giving her his cloak (and he had to wonder if she had one of her own, as she'd been wandering the grounds yesterday without one too,) and making sure she arrived at class without being assaulted by Weasley or Potter.

Professor Snape didn't seem to show any reaction to them arriving together and almost five minutes late, though when the other two arrived after them, he took twenty points from Gryffindor, and Draco couldn't help the soft chuckle he had at their expense. Granger barely managed to glare at him, and he resisted the urge to frown.

She looked very sickly and pale, overwhelmed by his too large black cloak. She was clutching it tightly around herself too, trembling a little still.

Halfway through the class, as Draco was watching her not take notes with ever mounting concern, his professor cracked.

"Miss Granger, you seem to be unusually quiet. Perhaps you'd like to help me demonstrate?" he said. Draco tried to communicate 'no' with every ounce of his being, but Professor Snape hardly seemed to notice.

"Pay attention," Professor Snape said to the class. "This will be on your exams."

He cast several minor curses in her direction, and she blocked each one, wand hand shaking more and more with each. Draco pulled his own wand out, feeling incredibly protective. Any one of those curses could endanger the unborn child.

Then, she wavered, just as his professor cast another curse. Draco felt the power surge through him and watched his wand flick out as if of its own accord. A shimmering, substantive shield hovered between Professor Snape and Granger's unconscious form. Draco lowered his wand, and the shield collapsed into itself, quicksilver energy shrinking to nothing.

His professor's expression clearly read 'what the hell was that?'

Draco strode over to Granger, arranging her properly on her side and snapping at one of the Gryffindors to go get Madame Pomfrey. He wasn't stupid enough to trust his own housemates with this.

"I assume you have an explanation for this, Draco," Professor Snape said testily.

"I assume you've heard the rumours," he replied with an identical tone of voice.

Professor Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Well, they are true. Granger is carrying _my_ child." He ignored the gasps as he confirmed the rumors. At this point, there might as well have only been three people in the room: himself, Granger, and his professor. He flipped the signet ring around on his finger once, twice. "Defending my own blood is more than explanation enough, is it not?" He glanced up, arching an eyebrow coolly as a smile curved his lips. He forced himself to drop his hands to his sides. It would not do to develop a nervous habit.

Professor Snape's lips tightened into a thin line of disapproval, and Blaise laughed outright.

"I do hope you're planning to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays," he said, voice cheery. "Your dearest aunt is going to be positively delighted by this news."

Draco turned a bright, threatening smile on Blaise. "Well, my dearest aunt should be used to such delight by now," he said, not allowing his tone to bely the grim terror he was just now starting to feel.

Madame Pomfrey rushed in then, a flurry of robes and potions and rebukes.

"You boys! I expected you to see to her better than this. When was the last time she ate anything, hmm? Nutrient potions _help_ , but they're hardly the end-all. She needs proper food!"

Draco watched her harangue Potter and Weasley with conflicted feelings. On the one hand, she wasn't shouting at him. On the other hand, she immediately dismissed him.

He had just put everything on the line for a baby whose mother didn't even want him-- it, he reminded himself, remembering what Granger had said; and he was so easily dismissed as inconsequential.

He forced himself to take control.

"I apologise," he said with a winning smile toward Madame Pomfrey. "I've clearly been remiss. I'll try to look after her better in the future."

She was taken aback. Granger stirred on the floor.

He had a moment of harsh clarity where he realized just how very screwed he was, and he glanced desperately at Professor Snape. He was rubbing his eyes.

Draco felt absolutely alone.

 

Hermione felt woozy, as everything flickered into focus. She was on the ground and Madame Pomfrey was fussing over her.

She was more surprised by Malfoy who was looking utterly bereft, kneeling beside her.

She decided against asking what had happened.

Malfoy patted her shoulder awkwardly, and she got it, she really did, but right now that was just too much.

"What do you _want_?" she demanded, hating that her voice came out querulous and shaky.

He sat back on his heels. "I should think that was obvious."

"Go away," she said, and this time it sounded like begging. She was rewarded by his expression shutting down completely.

He stood and left silently.

 

After she'd been fed and had drunk her potions, she had enough time to feel guilty. His cloak was draped over the back of the chair next to her bed in the hospital wing, and she had a feeling he'd only been trying to assist her; she just... couldn't handle this, any of this.

She hoped he would still go to the Divination room like she'd asked, and that Madame Pomfrey would let her leave.

He's pacing when she arrives, and he looks up at her right away, stare piercing her to her very core. She unfastens his cloak and offers it to him, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Is it really that horrible for you?" he asked.

"Is what horrible?" It isn't as though she can't think of anything he might be referring too. Rather, she can think of too many things.

"My child. I assumed," he ran a hand distractedly through his hair and she resettled the cloak in her arms, the weight of it comforting against her chest. "I thought if I could accept you as the mother that you, who everyone insists is far more compassionate than I, would be able to do the same."

"It isn't about that," she said. "We should... it will be more comfortable inside, I think." She didn't want to have this conversation down here in the open.

He gestured at the trapdoor, relieving her of his cloak as she walked past.

The room was just how they'd left it, those weeks ago, and she shivered a little at the reminder. His cloak was draped once again around her shoulders and she thanked him quietly.

"Do you not have one of your own?" he asked, and she could tell he was trying to be polite from the strain in his voice.

"I do," she said. "I just don't think about wearing it indoors. It seems silly."

He snorted.

He made her sit down, fussing very slightly, and she hadn't even realized that her back had been taut with tension until she was reclining against one of the poufs. Malfoy snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared, and he quietly ordered it to bring us some tea and something good to eat on an upset stomach.

She glared at him halfheartedly, but he ignored it, choosing instead to settle next to her pouf, sprawl-legged on the floor. It feels weird to be sitting like this, close to him and somewhat above him, but he doesn't make anything of it, so she refuses to as well.

He was spinning the ring he wore around and around on his finger-- it was just slightly too big.

Feeling greatly daring, she caught his hand in hers and drew it up so she could see the ring. It was a signet ring, old-fashioned, with a curling, blood-colored M as its seal. She could make out minute details of the crest, and it was very intriguing.

She hadn't noticed him wearing it before this term.

The elf popped back in and set the table. She slid down off the pouf so she could have better access to the tea. There were some fruits and various breads provided as well and she hesitated before snagging an apricot.

Malfoy whipped out a knife and reversed his grip; offering it to her silently. She accepted it and used it to cut a slice from the fruit and peel it.

She got juice all over her fingers, but the apricot tasted heavenly, and she hadn't truly enjoyed eating for several days now.

"Why haven't you been eating?" he asked quietly.

"Nauseous," she said shortly, then... "And I don't really feel up to facing the whole school. Not... not with this."


End file.
